Cosmic Shift
by WoodismyKeeper
Summary: There's a disturbing phenonmenon cursing Charms Classroom 3B: each month, the class becomes one student less. Harry, Oliver, Ron and Hermione are unfortunate enough to become wrapped in The Calamity's mystery - what caused it? And is there a way to stop it? A formidable force moves the very stars themselves, and it seems that Harry and Oliver must rely on their love to survive...
1. The Strangest Birthday Yet

**If you're familiar with my PotterWood Saga, you might want to forget some of what you've already read. Since there were a lot of things I wanted to add into the fanfictions but missed them out, I'm doing a "director's cut", if you will. Things will be changed, things will be removed, things will be added, so I'm hoping that it all becomes a relatively fresh experience for all of you. I'll be posting each fanfiction under the one link (this one), so every part of Harry and Oliver's story can be found easier and faster. Vinculum Duo had a fair bit missing, as did Fight or Flight, but Cygnus Threshold really needs a clean-up. As for Behind the World, I'm leaving that where it is for now (it'll be added onto this once I finish rewriting Fight or Flight). So, for the foreseeable future, my life will be dedicated to this. That is, if I don't suffer any more bouts of mild depression, but that's a different story. I'll leave the other fanfictions up in case you want to read their original versions. Since my smut muse has left, the amount of adult content in this may be far less than what it once was, which is a shame because Harry and Oliver have beautiful sex. Anyway... enjoy! **

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**Chapter One – The Strangest Birthday Yet**

Despite all of Harry's years at Hogwarts, the sixth of which he had just finished, he had never laid eyes upon a stranger (or downright scarier) sight than Petunia Dursley stood in her kitchen breathing down her nose, looking much like an underfed bull, at a cowering Vernon, who was sitting at the table. Harry and Dudley watched eagerly. It had all started when Harry awoke that morning to find that he had at last turned seventeen; the Trace, no longer tethering him to the Ministry's hawk-like scrutiny, had been lifted that very same morning.

'I don't care if the bloody law says he can do his freak stuff!' Uncle Vernon had thundered shortly before the scene at which Harry and Dudley stared with interest. It was hard to believe that a simple Levitation charm could set the brutish man off on such an explosive rampage. 'I will _not_ have it under my blasted roof!'

'_Your_ roof?' Aunt Petunia had replied shrilly. '_Your_ roof! Who's the one who uses her inheritance to pay the mortgage whilst her husband spends all of his money on himself and their son instead of buying what we actually need?!'

'It's my money-!'

'God, how could I ever have thought that staying with you was a good idea?'

There was tense silence after that. It lasted far longer than Harry felt it had; what had, in fact, been thirty minutes, felt like little over ten. Uncle Vernon's big, bristly moustache quivered on his sweaty top lip and his eyes flitted from Petunia to Harry, and then back again. Petunia was clutching something hidden in her apron, but then she took her hand away and walked off to see to the bacon.

'Dudley,' said Petunia lightly, 'make sure your father doesn't attack Harry for the rest of the day, would you? Harry, be careful where you use magic. You can use it in the house but out in the neighbourhood is a different story.'

Harry was stunned.

He took out his wand, was about to mutter a simple, harmless spell, but he noticed the fearful glint in Uncle Vernon's eyes; he put it away with a sigh.

'Aunt Petunia, is it okay if I go out for a walk?' he asked, after handing her his dirty plate.

'You're seventeen now, you can do what you like,' Aunt Petunia said simply, and Harry wondered why she was being so complacent about his sudden freedom. 'Just be back by five o'clock, dinner should be done by then. Dudley, you can go with him, if you like.'

Harry couldn't quite believe his luck.

He went up to his bedroom, gave a restless Hedwig a few owl treats, and went to head out of the house. But before he did, he indulged himself in gazing at a poster on his wall. A poster of a certain Puddlemere United Quidditch player he had strange feelings for. A poster of Oliver Wood. He hadn't seen Oliver in just over three years, since the older boy had left Hogwarts at the end of Harry's third year. But there was something inside Harry which made him think that they would be seeing each other again soon.

After he had taken his fill of the chiselled cheeks, strong jaw and shimmering hazel eyes which melted his soul, Harry walked out of the house with Dudley.

Just like the previous two weeks of the summer holidays, every single millimetre of sky was clear of cloud, and the huge burning orb made the air above the black tarmac wave in its blistering heat.

As they dawdled down the road, heading somewhere Harry wasn't sure of, animals could be seen sprawled on the pavement, tongues lolling out, torsos heaving.

'Nobody's watching, are they?' said Harry cautiously, and Dudley shook his head. Harry crouched over the form of a Chihuahua and pointed his wand at its mouth. He muttered, '_Aguamenti_,' and a steady stream of cool water trickled from the end. The dog lapped it up eagerly, and then Harry saw Dudley move over to another dog. Confused, he said, 'Dudley, what are you doing?'

'Helping this dog,' said Dudley. 'It's gonna overheat if we don't do anything about it.'

'You need a – _where did you get that wand!_'

Dudley stood up again and pulled a short wand away from the mouth of the dog which had started licked his face appreciatively. He said, 'Mum and I are magical, that's why she's fine with you using magic as long as no Muggles see.'

'But how did you keep it all such a well-hidden secret from me?' said Harry, hurt. He and Dudley turned a corner onto the next street, where huge boxes and pieces of furniture were being unloaded from a moving van.

'We didn't use magic around you because Dad didn't know we were magical, too. He only knows now because Mum told him once the Trace had been lifted from both of us. I'm pretty sure she's going to ask him for a divorce soon. To be honest, I can understand. It's been really irritating for us to just stand by and watch while he abused you.'

'You're one to talk about abusing me,' said Harry bitterly. 'You haven't forgotten the "Harry hunting" you and your friends used to play, have you?'

'Ever wondered why we never actually caught you?' said Dudley smartly, which was a first for him. 'The other boys would never run ahead of me, and I let you get away on purpose.'

'So it was all just a ruse?' said Harry, as one of the removal men at the house they were passing screamed when he dropped a sofa on his toe. He cursed loudly, and Harry heard an ominous crack. When he looked, he saw a flash of blue light. He said, loud enough for the man to hear him, 'You'd better hope you weren't seen by a Muggle.'

Harry and Dudley carried on walking without paying attention to what was in front of them-

_Crash._

Harry, Dudley and the stranger collided with a crunch and stumbled to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

'Sorry!' said Harry immediately, as he picked himself up from the floor, helping the stranger, too. 'I didn't see you- _Oliver_? Oliver Wood? Is that you?'

'Hello, Harry, what a pleasant surprise!' said the former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain brightly, brushing himself off. 'How long has it been? Four years?'

'Something like that,' Harry said, grinning. He and Oliver embraced in a friendly hug. 'How's life been treating you?'

'I can't complain. Just moving in here, actually.'

'Really? Dudley – this is my cousin – and I live on Privet Drive just round the corner from here with my aunt and uncle. What are you doing here in Little Whinging? Puddlemere United changing location, are they?' he said all this with an idiotic grin Dudley picked up on, and he added a laugh at the last part.

'Well,' said Oliver, his mouth twitching unsurely, '_I'm_ changing location. Puddlemere United really started to get on my nerves. I tell you what, Harry, since I'm busy right now, why don't I send you an owl later on and we can catch up on old times? I can explain everything to you then.'

'No issues here. I'll see you later, Oliver.'

'See you later, Harry. It really is good to see you.'

'Well?' said Dudley expectantly ten minutes later. For the sake of the childhood which they regretted not having properly shared with each other, he and Harry had found a dry, desolate field in the middle of nowhere, which played host to a rundown children's playground. Practically everything here was unusable, but there were still two swings that Harry and Dudley could, at least, sit on.

'Well, what?' said Harry innocently.

'Aren't you going to tell me who Oliver is?'

'An old friend from Hogwarts.' Harry's tone was light-hearted as he kicked a few pebbles on the ground. 'What?'

'You like him,' Dudley said in a tone fitting of a twelve year-old child. He sang, 'Harry likes Oliver! Harry likes Oliver!'

'Oh, shush, I do not,' said Harry, blushing. The Dursleys knew that Harry was gay. How could they not, when Harry had been shouting, 'I love you, Oliver' in his sleep? Aunt Petunia and Dudley couldn't have cared less when they found out, but Uncle Vernon's hatred of Harry seemed to intensify; physical torment now came into the equation.

Of course, Harry knew that he didn't _really_ love Oliver, it was just a silly, little crush. And that was how it was going to stay; Oliver was a very keen professional Quidditch player, travelling a lot, and there was no doubt about the fact that he would be surrounded by beautiful girls everywhere he went. He was very easy on the eyes, nothing less could be said about that, and there was something about him that Harry had always found rather appealing.

'Come off it, you were smiling like an idiot and blushing the shade of a beetroot back there. How could you _not_ like him? Your dreams and sleep-talking aren't exactly the best tools for defence, either,' Dudley added with a victorious chuckle.

He had a point, Harry thought. Maybe he would try his luck with Oliver and get to know him a bit more when the twenty-one year-old wasn't as busy.

'Okay,' Harry sighed in defeat. 'So what if I _do_ like him? There's nothing wrong with that, is there?'

'Course not. You should ask him out next time you see him.'

'I can't do that,' Harry said, shaking his head resolutely. "What if he's not gay?'

'What if he is? It couldn't help to at least check.'

'Yeah, I guess you're right,' said Harry. He looked at his watch. 'It's nearly half past four. We should get going. If we want to make it home on time.'

And with that, Harry and Dudley set off in the direction of Privet Drive.

Oliver was just a crush to Harry right now, nothing more, nothing less. If such a situation arose in which Harry found that he _would_ like to be in a relationship with Oliver, then he'd take the initiative and do what his heart told him. But just because there were tiny amounts of feelings there, it wasn't to say that he was going to leap on the unsuspecting older man. Harry would bide his time, and, in doing so, would wait and see if his attraction to Oliver would increase.

I guess only time will tell, he told himself, as the moving van came back into view, Oliver nowhere to be seen.


	2. New Romance

**Chapter Two – New Romance**

Over the coming days, Harry found himself with a lot more freedom than he would ever have expected getting whilst living at the Dursleys'. It was one thing for him to be able to practice magic freely. It was a completely different thing for him to be able to help himself to food from the fridge. He never thought he'd believe it, but he was finally enjoying his summer holidays in a place other than the wizarding world, and it was how he liked it.

Of the many other upsides of life allowing him happiness at last, each day was spent taking meaningless strolls through the surrounding streets. Dudley and Petunia (whom Dudley had told about Harry's crush on Oliver) could see that these wanderings weren't as meaningless as Harry had made them out to be. Rather, they knew that his intentions were really to get a good look at Oliver some more.

Even though he knew that Oliver would be busy with unpacking and everything else, Harry couldn't help but wish that their catching-up time would hurry along. Then he kicked himself; he wasn't supposed to have such strong feelings yet.

On the fifth day of his ritual, after returning home and sitting at the kitchen table for lunch, Aunt Petunia and Dudley (Uncle Vernon had opted to stay with Aunt Marge until Harry returned to Hogwarts) both raised one eyebrow at him, as though they knew.

'Did you get another good look at your boyfriend, Harry?' Aunt Petunia joked.

'Shove off,' said Harry playfully. 'I'm not looking for anything with Oliver-'

'-apart from a good ole gawk,' Dudley winked.

'Very funny,' said Harry sarcastically. Then there was a knock at the door. 'I'll get it.'

There was a part of Harry that expected this, but then there was a whole other part that was shocked to see Oliver standing there, smiling broadly.

'Alright, Harry?' he said. 'Not busy, are you? Only, I was hoping we could catch up, like we said we would.' He shuffled while he spoke, but Harry hadn't seemed to have noticed. Dudley and Aunt Petunia merely glanced at each other.

'Er – yeah, sure! Aunt Petunia, I'm not sure how long I'll be, so don't wait up.'

'Don't be back too late, Harry,' called Aunt Petunia, as Harry took his key off the rack and pocketed it, closing the door behind him and walking with Oliver.

'So, Oliver, how's life been at Puddlemere United?'

'Dismal,' Oliver said grimly. 'Honestly, you'd think a team that's been running for hundreds of years would know not to blame each other for their own mistakes…'

'What do you mean?' said Harry, as he and Oliver turned the corner towards Oliver's new house.

'For one thing, Andy Crybaugh – he's the Beater on the team – kept blaming the Seeker, Dean Finnigan, for missing a hit. What happened was, Andy swung to hit a Bludger, but the Golden Snitch flew right over his head and Dean flew after it. But Andy let himself distracted, see, and so he missed the Bludger completely.  
'Back in the changing rooms, he went completely mental. Screaming and shouting like I've never seen. Even tore up a few benches in the process. It wasn't the first time there'd been arguments like that, either.' Oliver took out his key as they approached his house, unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. 'Mandy Richards was hit by a Bludger the game before and ended up dropping the Quaffle. Course, Andy had a fair share to say about that, too. Glad I left, to be honest.'

That last part blew Harry away. Oliver Wood? Quit Quidditch?

'Anyway,' Oliver continued, 'I saw an advert in the Daily Prophet not too long ago. There are openings at Hogwarts for Quidditch coaches, and my first thought was to apply. So I did, and now I've got an interview this coming Thursday. If all goes well, I'll be training you and the team at Hogwarts come September.'

'I can't wait,' Harry said before he could help himself. Blushing furiously, he averted his gaze from Oliver, whom he suddenly found to be extraordinarily attractive.

'Glad you're so excited to have me back,' Oliver chuckled. 'Cup of tea, Harry?'

'Two sugars, if you don't mind, thanks,' said Harry gratefully. He walked into the living room. Despite not even being here a week, Oliver had had a fair bit of decorating done; a three-seater sofa and a chair were angled neatly in front of a wall-hung, widescreen television set; a bookshelf filled with (this didn't surprise Harry) Quidditch almanacs stood against a crimson wall (which Harry guessed had been enchanted by Oliver) from which dangled a few grainy photos of a middle-aged woman with auburn hair. 'You've been busy in here, I can see.'

'Yeah, it only took me a couple of days to get everything in the house sorted,' said Oliver, who brought two cups of steaming tea into the room. 'Take a seat.'

'Two days? Pardon me if I'm being nosy, but what have you been doing since then?'

'My grandmother – the woman in the photos on the wall, name's Denise, Muggle – she's been coming round every day to make sure I'm settled in properly. I haven't had the time for company, unfortunately. Kinda glad you're the first company I've got, actually.' He said the last part without meeting Harry's gaze.

'Oh?' said Harry curiously. 'And why's that?'

'Because I missed you,' said Oliver bluntly. 'Don't get the wrong idea, but your smile and the way you used to ride your broom, the way you were hardly ever upset, always seemed to make me feel happy, even if I myself was down in the dumps.'

Harry gulped. Talk about a lot to take in at once! After a while of awkward silence, he admitted slowly, 'Well, believe it or not, I used to have _the_ biggest crush on you…'

Oliver considered him for a moment, then said, 'I always thought you were attracted to the fairer sex, Harry.'

'Nah,' Harry said nonchalantly. 'Besides, the fairer sex is _definitely_ the one you belong to…  
'Did I just say that?'

'I think you did,' said Oliver with a laugh. He sipped his tea. 'Don't worry about it, I get people – admittedly, mainly girls – crushing on me all the time. I just wish something else would actually come of them instead of a purely superficial attraction. I want love, not some silly little fling.'

'That's funny,' said Harry. 'I'm looking for love, too.  
'So, had much luck with the girls in the past?'

'Me? Girls? You're kidding, right?'

'Well, you never made it clear whether you were gay or-'

'With that little bit I told you about when we were at school together? Did you honestly believe that I could have any attraction to women, when it was so plainly obvious I actually had a crush on you?'

'Wait, so… We had a crush on each other and neither of us knew?'

'Sounds about right. And I regret being four years older than you, Harry, because…' he drew in a great breath, as though about to reveal something very secret, and blurted, 'I'mstillcrushingonyou.'

Harry's eyes widened, his heart pounding. If what he was hearing was true, then he had a chance with Oliver after all. But he couldn't see how Oliver being four years his senior would get in the way. Anxiously, he said, 'You – You still have a crush on me?'

'Yes…' Oliver said lowly. 'You aren't going to start ignoring me, are you?'

'Me? Ignore the man I used to have a crush on? Me? Ignore the man I _still_ have a crush on?' Harry said, smirking encouragingly. He wasn't sure whether this was allowed, but he stroked Oliver's back gently.

'This just gets worse and worse…' Oliver groaned. 'We want to be with each other, right?'

'Well, I wouldn't say that just yet, but yes, carry on.'

'Well we can't.' said Oliver flatly. 'What if I become a coach at Hogwarts? I'll be your mentor; being your boyfriend is going to be off the cards.'

'Oliver, think about this logically. You know teachers can't have relationships with students for obvious reasons, but being a coach is different. You won't be able to take away or give house points, and we'll be calling you Mr Wood, no doubt.'

'Dumbledore _did_ mention that we won't be considered teachers…'

'Well there you go! What's to say we can't at least give it a try? Give _us_ a try?'

'You know what, you're right,' Oliver said with a wide smile. He leant forward. Harry braced himself, knowing what was coming next, and gasped when Oliver's soft lips brushed over his own. When Oliver pulled away, they were both flustered. 'Er,' Oliver stuttered. 'Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me…'

'Don't worry about it,' said Harry, smiling idiotically. 'Not half bad, Wood. We'll have to arrange a date to do that some more, won't we?'

'Apparently so,' said Oliver. 'So we're dating now, I guess?'

'You bet we are. What date's good for you?'

'How about next Saturday? I know a good restaurant that makes _amazing_ lasagne. Don't bring your own cash – my treat.'

'I couldn't possibly-'

'Yes, you could. Because it's _me_ who's asking you. Oh, I suppose I'd better warn you: I'm a hopeless romantic.'

'Fine by me,' said Harry. 'I'm a sucker for romance.' He looked down at his watch, saw that it was nearly seven o'clock, and jumped out of his skin. 'Sorry, Ollie – you don't mind if I call you that, do you?' Oliver shook his head. 'I've got to go.'

'It's fine, I understand. I'll see you soon, yeah?'

'Yeah.'

And Harry left Oliver's house, feeling lighter than helium, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he practically skipped home. He had a date with Oliver Wood!


	3. The Shadow

**Hehe, it's been a while, huh? I've been going through some pretty bad stuff recently but I'm steadily getting back into my old habit of writing. I still have a little bit of writer's block, so updates will probably be a lot less frequent as they were when I first started writing last year. Yes, I'm aware that my writing has grown rusty but I'm hoping to get back in shape soon. Anyway, reviews are greatly appreciated!**

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**Chapter Three – The Shadow**

If there was ever one person that Harry just couldn't get off his mind, it was Oliver Wood. There were certain aspects of his behaviour that changed whenever Oliver's handsome face barged to the forefront of his mind, and Dudley and Aunt Petunia were quick to pick up on this fact. But Harry hadn't told them about his date with Oliver…

'Any reason you've been acting so happy over the last few days?' said Aunt Petunia the night before Harry would go to Diagon Alley to meet Ron and Hermione; earlier that morning, the owl had arrived with his letter detailing the list of supplies he would need for his last year at Hogwarts.

'I've got a date with Oliver!' Harry shouted exultantly. 'I could sing!'

But before Aunt Petunia could question him further, he had his own inquiries to make regarding the secrecy behind her and Dudley's magical capabilities.

'Why didn't you tell me you and Dudley were magical when Hagrid told me I was a wizard? You could have sent Dudley off to Hogwarts with me, could have treated me how you treat me now, could have left Vernon way back then…'

'You think I didn't want to?' said Aunt Petunia glumly. 'Vernon was very abusive, Harry, not just to you but to me, as well. He wouldn't lay a finger on Dudley, no, never his own son, his flesh and blood, but he didn't seem to care about any harm he may cause us. The only reason I didn't curse Vernon was that magic on Muggles serves you with a life sentence in Azkaban. Trust me, Harry, if I could have done something, I would.  
'I waited for Vernon to leave us of his own accord; it was the only way I could ensure that we could be safe whilst avoiding a term in Azkaban myself. I'm so sorry about the physical abuse you were subjected to towards the end…'

'I'm not bothered about that,' said Harry, 'it was nothing a little Healing spell couldn't fix. But what intrigues me most is how Dudley managed to get his wand and learn the spells he knows without me finding out.'

'I had him learning magic by night. All those times you heard him mumbling in his sleep, he wasn't really sleeping. I paid for a Kwikspell course for him, and it's worked wonders. He should be at the same level of magic as you. Unfortunately, he's too old to start school now. He'll need to take his exams at Hogwarts, mind you, but I'm sure he'll pass with flying colours.  
'Now, tell me what happened at Oliver's house and how you came to arrange a date.'

'Well, we started talking and I found out that the Quidditch team he was on is falling apart, then the subject came round to school. He told me how he used to have a crush on me at Hogwarts, even though he's four years older than I am. I told him that _I_ had a crush on _him_ at Hogwarts, and we laughed for a bit. Then things got a little serious. He looked me in the eye and tried to tell me something, but it came out as more of a blurt. He said he was still crushing on me. So I told him I still had a crush on him, and things sort of went from there. He kissed me, but I didn't have chance to kiss him back. Otherwise, I'd have snogged his face off. Our first date, at a restaurant he knows, is a week today – next Saturday. I'm keeping my schedule free that day.'

With that, Harry left the kitchen table, his eyes itching with tiredness, and went up to bed.

Harry woke feeling thoroughly miserable and unsatisfied the next morning. It had been a lovely dream he was having: he and Oliver were sat in the middle of a field, having a picnic, when Harry gave Oliver a kiss. Then it deepened, grew more passionate, and they had started undressing each other until-

Harry's cheeks burned. He hadn't had a dream quite like _that_ before…

He jumped out of bed, tapped the cage holding a screechy Hedwig, threw on a set clean of clothes, and went downstairs for a spot of breakfast before making the trip to Diagon Alley.

An otter-shaped Patronus drifted in through the kitchen window. Harry immediately recognised it as being Hermione's. 'Ron and I will be at Diagon Alley in half an hour. We'll see you then.'

Harry grabbed a few slices of toast, bade Aunt Petunia farewell, and headed out of the house. Once he was sure he was out of earshot and sight of any Muggles nearby, he Disapparated with a crack.

'Do you mind!' squeaked an elderly witch beside the Magical Menagerie, as Harry Apparated. She brandished a tattered handbag and swung it in Harry's direction, but he ducked out of the way before it could hit him.

'Sorry,' Harry said quickly, backing away hastily. But he wasn't watching where he was going. 'Oof!'

'Might want to watch where you're going there, mate- Harry! Hello!'

'Oliver? You weren't kidding when you said we'd be seeing each other soon!'

Before Harry could properly absorb the reality of their current situation, he found his lips being pressed by Oliver's.

'Wow, Oliver, you really like to kiss, don't you?'

'Just a little bit,' said Oliver, flustered. 'You don't have a problem with it, do you? Because I'll stop if it makes you feel uncomfortable.'

'No, it's fine,' said Harry. He pecked Oliver's cheek. 'I know you said we'd be going on a date next Saturday, but what do you say to a bit of ice cream while I wait for Ron and Hermione? We can – you know – get warmed up for our first real date. Get to know each other a little more.'

'I can't see any problems with that,' Oliver smiled. He perched himself on a chair at a table in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. He gestured for Harry to sit opposite him. 'Looking forward to your final year at Hogwarts then, Harry?'

'Kind of,' said Harry uncertainly. 'I want to get on with my life and be an Auror, but I don't want to leave school. It's like a second home to me…'

'I know what you mean,' said Oliver. 'I didn't want to leave because all of my friends were in the years below me. And then, of course, there was the complicated matter of having a crush on someone four years younger than me.  
'Harry, can I be a little bit sweet and possibly nauseating for a minute?'

'Sure.'

'I haven't been in a relationship since I left Hogwarts because I held onto the hope that we'd meet up again. I wanted to make sure that I was available if a moment arose where we could get together sometime…'

'That really _is_ sweet,' said Harry, with a blush that stained his cheeks a deep shade of red. He reached across the table and took a gentle hold of Oliver's hand. Then he leant over and placed a tender kiss to the older man's lips. 'I like sweet.'

'Harry, what are you doing?' said a voice Harry hadn't been anticipating. Hermione Granger, looking bossier than ever, strode down the street with a man and woman Harry failed to recognise beside her. But she was also flanked by the whole Weasley clan. Ginny, Harry noted, looked absolutely thunderous. 'Did you just do what I thought you did?'

'Yes, you did,' said Harry proudly. 'Oliver and I are dating. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention, I'm gay.'

'You don't say?' said Ron sardonically. 'Locking lips with your old Quidditch Captain, eh?'

'Harry, he's four years older than you,' said Hermione tentatively. 'Don't you think it's a little – _odd_ – to be dating someone that much older than you?'

'It's only four years, dear,' said the woman beside her. 'There are seven years between myself and your father. Really, what does age matter when two people care about each other enough?'

'I suppose you're right, Mum…' Hermione did a double-take. 'You'll probably already know this, but that's my friend, Harry Potter, and who I guess is now his boyfriend, Oliver Wood. Harry, Oliver, this is my mother, Margaret, and my father, Arnold.'

'Nice to meet you,' said Harry politely. 'But I wouldn't say we're boyfriends just yet. We've only just started dating – last Friday, actually.'

Realising that he and Oliver hadn't even ordered ice cream before Hermione, her family and the Weasleys showed up, Harry decided to not even bother. So, still holding Oliver's hand (Oliver wasn't complaining), he walked down Diagon Alley with the others.

There was no difference between this year and all of Harry's others; teetering towers of books new and old could be seen through the windows of Flourish & Blotts, though nowhere near as many as were usually visible; instead, there was a sea of multi-coloured robes and pointed hats.

'That's where we'll want to head first,' said Mrs Weasley. But as they headed into the sweltering store, she finally found an opening in Harry's defence: she crushed him, as always, in a very tight, very lethal hug.

'M-Mrs Weasley!' Harry spluttered. 'I can't – I can't breathe!'

Oliver watched with high amusement as Harry managed to wrestle his way out of Mrs Weasley's vice-like grip.

'What are you in Diagon Alley for today, then, Oliver?' the plump woman asked.

'Picking up my usual Quidditch magazines,' said Oliver.

'You never change, do you?' said Harry, smirking.

'Hey, I might not like the Quidditch team I was on, but that doesn't mean I don't love the game. I'm going to be your coach soon, remember?'

'I do.'

'That's not fair!' Ginny blurted. Harry and Oliver stared at her; Mrs Weasley _glared_ at her. 'Why do you get to go out with the coach when you and I couldn't even go out last year, Harry? I wasn't even on the team!'

'Ginny, stop being so insensitive!' Mrs Weasley scolded her. 'Isn't it plainly obvious? Harry is _gay_ – he only wants to date _men_. Oliver is his boyfriend, there's little you can do about that…'

'Don't you find it kind of annoying when people call us boyfriends?' Harry murmured to Oliver. 'I mean, we haven't even been going out that long, and we certainly haven't even got past kissing. But then again, I bet you've got an amazing body…'

'You'll find out soon enough,' Oliver whispered with a wink. He pecked Harry's cheek, ignoring the scathing glance from Ginny which threatened to pierce his gut. But Harry wouldn't stand for it, because Oliver was fast becoming his favourite person in the world.

'Ginny, could you stop glaring at Oliver like that, please?' he said irritably. Then he dropped his tone of voice so that only Oliver could hear him once more. 'Why don't we just say we're boyfriends, for simplicity's sake?'

Oliver shifted uncomfortably on the spot, but that might have had something to do with the gaggle of goose-like elderly witches surrounding him; their handbags looked rather prickly.

'Okay, I know this is really fast-moving and all… but I think I want to _really_ be your boyfriend because I – well – because I like you… a _lot_…'

'After only a week?'

'Well, these feelings have kind of fermented and matured over the time I spent crushing on you, Harry…'

'Oh, I see… Then, yes, we can be boyfriends.' And Harry made sure to give Oliver's mouth a sneaky probe with his tongue during the resulting kiss.

'Cheeky,' Oliver chuckled.

'Keep that in private, please,' said a snooty-looking woman dressed in robes of pure black. She looked very respectable with her pince-nez and hair tied tightly in a bun, but there was a hint of malice in the glare she sent Harry and Oliver that made them both feel quite uneasy. 'This is a book shop, not a voyeur's club. Now, are you going to buy anything? If not, please leave.'

'Actually,' said Harry, brandishing his list of school supplies as though it were a piece of decisive evidence, 'I need these books for school. Could you grab them for me, please?'

Harry realised only now that he hadn't actually visited Gringotts yet, and without gold he wouldn't be able to get his books.

'Oh no!' he said loudly. Ron, Hermione and Mr and Mrs Weasley looked at him. 'I haven't got any money with me!'

'You haven't?' said Oliver, who dipped into his pockets. 'How much do you need? Don't look at me like that, I'm buying your books for you no matter what you say,' he added when Harry gave him a politely declining glance.

'Oliver, really, I can't. We've only just started going out. Besides, you don't have to buy my things for me…'

'But I want to. I want to be the one to make sure you've got the things you need. I want to provide you with security.'

Harry heard Mrs Weasley cooing from behind him, 'He's buying Harry's things for him! How sweet!'

'Fine,' Harry sighed in defeat. 'I'm still giving you the money back-'

'You most certainly are not,' said Oliver flatly. He grinned at Harry and then pecked him on the cheek. 'Think of it as a present from your boyfriend.'

Harry couldn't help but blush as Oliver handed him ten galleons, which he then handed to the woman, who was bringing his school books over. She gave him a frosty look as she snatched the money, and he hissed when her claws scratched his palm.

Hermione wasn't pleased; while Oliver checked the deep – almost bloody – gouges on Harry's hand, she tapped the woman on shoulder.

'Yes?' said the woman sharply, 'What do you want?'

Not a single word left Hermione's mouth as she raised her hand, primed it, and, for the first time in her life, gave the woman a very harsh swipe across the face.

Almost immediately, Mr and Mrs Granger pulled their daughter out of the shop, with Mrs Granger using a few choice words which Harry would never have thought she'd use.

With all eyes currently on them (and an incredibly embarrassed, red-cheeked woman), Harry and Oliver made haste in leaving the shop while the Weasleys bought their books.

'Are you alright, Harry?' Oliver said with a voice of concern. He gave Harry's hand another look-over, his eyes squinted in intense concentration.. 'Those scratches look nasty…'

'I'm fine, Ollie, honest,' said Harry, who immediately kicked himself. 'Oops… I don't think we're quite at the nickname stage yet, do you? Sorry if I'm being a little too forward…'

'Don't be,' Oliver smiled sweetly. He wrapped his arms around Harry's body and pulled him into their first hug, which was far warmer and securer than Harry had ever anticipated. He took a deep breath in and felt Oliver's heart beating against his cheek. 'I find it endearing.'

There was a rather peculiar, subtle quivering coming from Oliver's chest. 'Ollie?' said Harry.

'Yeah, Harry?'

'Are – Are you nervous? About us?'

'There's nothing to be nervous about, is there? Why do you ask?'

'Your heart's beating as though you've run a mile,' Harry said pointedly. He drew himself away from the hug just in time to see the Weasleys shuffling sideways out of the packed bookshop, Mr Weasley at the front, Ginny at the back.

Now that they were all back outside in Diagon Alley, the big, burning orb in the sky singing the hair on the back of their neck, it was much easier to properly catch up. Having three of the four present Weasley children all trying to ask questions at once (Fred and George had reverted to finishing each other's sentences) was quite overwhelming, so the first thing Harry did was hold his arms up to stop himself from drowning in their sheer volume. Ginny remained deathly silent.

'One at a time, one at a time! Ron, if you wait until we're on our own, you can ask anything and everything. Fred, George, what is it you wanted to ask?'

'Us?' chimed Fred and George. They smiled with the kind of tenacious cheek that never failed to irritate Mrs Weasley. 'We didn't want to ask anything, Harry.'

Mrs Weasley cut in then. 'Harry, dear, Arthur and I are running low on gold so we'll be going to Gringotts again to top up. Would you like to come with us?'

'No need, Mrs Weasley,' said Oliver, who held Harry close to him. 'I'll buy Harry all of his things today.'

'Oliver, there's a limit!' said Harry exasperatedly. 'I don't want you to spend all of your money on me. You worked hard to earn that money, please don't let me be a drain on you. Don't make me beg…'

Oliver considered Harry for a moment, his eyes shimmering, and kissed him on the cheek. 'Alright,' he said. 'If you're that insistent on buying your own things, I won't stop you.'

And with that, Harry and the Weasleys set off towards the snowy building which towered above all on the High Street.

'Harry, wait!' said Oliver quickly. Harry turned to face him, and the words caught in his throat like glue. 'Doesn't matter…'

Half an hour later, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Oliver sought refuge in the cool shade provided by the Leaky Cauldron. Mr and Mrs Granger had left Hermione with the other three whilst they themselves returned home, and the Weasleys bustled around Diagon Alley searching for the remaining items on their school list.

'Don't you dare,' said Harry immediately, as Oliver offered Tom the Innkeeper twice the amount due for his own butterbeer. Harry hastily thrust five Sickles into the Innkeeper's hand. 'Come on, Oliver, at least let me have _some_ independence.'

'Alright,' said Oliver, who placed a very gentle kiss to Harry's cheek. 'Sorry for being so smothering.'

'It's okay. It's sweet that you want to provide for me, but there's only so much a man can take before feeling useless. I'm not being harsh, am I?'

'Harsh?' said Oliver, looking surprised. 'No, you weren't being harsh at all. You just want a little bit of independence, is all.'

'Thanks, Ollie.  
'Wait, I'm pretty sure you were going to say something to me outside earlier. What was it?'

'Oh, it's nothing,' said Oliver quickly. And he changed the subject, somewhat awkwardly. 'What lessons did you take at NEWT level then, Harry?'

Harry cast a furtive glance at Ron and Hermione, who had been watching this little scene in complete (and uncomfortable) silence. Unsurely, Harry said, 'Potions, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, the new subject at Hogwarts – Mediwitchery – and some others…'

'Like what?' said Oliver, feigning interest. He avoided eye contact with the three very mystified teenagers in front of him and stared aimlessly into the butterbeer in front of him.

'Oliver, are you okay?' Harry said with a voice of concern. He held Oliver's hand. 'You seem a little bit distant…'

'Just feeling a little bit tired,' Oliver said, clapping a hand to his head and hoping that he'd be able to put on a good enough act to convince Harry that he was ill.

'I think you should go home,' Hermione said matter-of-factly. 'If you're not feeling very well, it isn't fair that you should pass your illness onto us.'

'Hermione's right, Ollie,' said Harry, stroking his boyfriend's back carefully. 'Come on, I'll take you home.'

'N-No,' Oliver stammered. 'Really, I can manage by myself.'

Harry huffed, raised a reproving eyebrow at Oliver, and leaned up to the older man's ear. 'I know you've got something to tell me,' he said lowly. 'I'm taking you home and we're going to have a chat in peace, okay? No buts, mister.'

And with that, Harry bade Ron and Hermione farewell, leaving his and Oliver's butterbeers untouched upon the table, and led Oliver out of the Leaky Cauldron into the burning sunshine beyond.

But just as he was about to Apparate, a very bitter, cold breeze caught the back of his neck: he shuddered visibly, his skin crawling. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw movement – he whirled in the direction of a dark, dank alley besides Flourish & Blotts and his voice caught in his throat; lurking – apparently glowering through great, red orbs – was a figure enshrouded by a thick, black cloak. Yet Harry was mystified as to why nobody in the street seemed to see it.

'Harry, is something wrong?' Harry didn't respond. 'Harry?'

With a fairly rough tap on his cheek, Harry directed his bewildered gaze at Oliver and said, 'Do you see that? In the alley?'

He gestured with a shaky hand in the direction he had been staring, and his gut wrenched when he saw that the figure was no longer there.

'What am I supposed to be looking at?' said Oliver confusedly. 'Harry, you're worrying me.'

'Don't worry about it.' Harry gave his head a resolute shake. 'Must have just been a trick of the light.  
'Come on, I'm taking you home, like I said. You don't think you're getting out of talking to me that easily, did you?' he added with a wink.

And he pecked his boyfriend's cheek, grabbed his arm, and Disapparated with a crack like a gun.


	4. The Night

**The updates are coming in slowly but surely. I'm not sure how much longer it'll be before I get back to how I used to be, but I'm hoping it'll be soon. Until then, enjoy the updates I manage to upload. :)**

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**Chapter Four – The Night**

'Make yourself at home,' said Oliver, as he took the key out of his pocket. But when he tried to unlock the door, it seemed that it wasn't locked in the first place; the handle pushed down with little difficulty, and an immediate gust of hot air which smelled like parsley took their breath away.

Oliver gave Harry a confused glance, as though Harry could offer some explanation, but all he got in return was an equally mystified stare.

Anxiously, Oliver called, loud enough for the person making a lot of racket in the kitchen to hear him, 'Hello? Who's there?'

'My Little Captain!' delightedly squealed a voice Harry failed to recognise, and the gargantuan form of a bespectacled, wispy, red-haired woman in her sixties came bounding down the hallway. She dived at Oliver and ensnared him in a very tight hug – one that made him turn deep-purple quite quickly. When she released him, she started fussing about him, patting away invisible dust here and there. 'I hope you don't mind! I thought I'd come and see how you're settling in, but when I arrived I noticed that you weren't home!'

'H-How did you get in?' Oliver said in a strangled voice. 'I locked the door-'

'That's just it, Cappy, I tried the door and it was still open,' her expression changed and she now pointed at Oliver with a stern finger. 'You really should double-check, you know? Anybody could just walk in! Anyway, I started making us some cheesy pasta, I know how much you like it!'

Harry shifted about awkwardly; he was yet to be greeted by this woman – clearly a relative of Oliver's. Although, he wasn't entirely sure that he _wanted_ to be greeted if it meant that his lungs would need steel reinforcement. He coughed, just to make sure that his presence was known.

'Oh, hello!' said the woman, apparently surprised but pleased to have company. She looked at Harry, then she looked at Oliver and back again. Something behind her eyes flashed and Harry could hear the gears in her mind click into action. 'How long?'

Harry stared.

'A couple of weeks,' said Oliver proudly. He pulled a bewildered Harry tightly to his side. 'We were both in the Quidditch team at Hogwarts.'

'Oh, so _this_ is the Harry Potter you couldn't stop talking about? He's very handsome, isn't he?  
'Hello, Harry, I'm Oliver's non-magical grandmother, Denise. I raised Oliver since he was a young boy, you know? Mother and father abandoned him, the poor dear…'

Harry's heart gave a sympathetic pang. Then Denise continued. 'Although, his father – my son – didn't necessarily abandon him. He works somewhere high-up in the Government, see – our Government – but his mother… Well, she just up and left without giving any particular reason why. But, being the strong-minded man he is, he just kept on going. I knew he'd be magical like his mother, but that didn't stop me from being incredibly proud when he received his Hogwarts letter – goodness gracious, I'm rambling! I'd best get seeing to the dinner before it gets ruined! We'll talk when I've dished it out. It's good to meet you, Harry.'

And she cantered away, which was an odd sight considering her size.

Harry slowly turned towards Oliver. 'She's – erm – certainly _energetic_…'

'Yeah, that's my Gran, alright,' Oliver chortled. 'Not a sixty year-old bone in her body. Come into the living room with me and we can have a little chat in private, eh?'

And they walked into the living room, Oliver closing the door behind him. Harry took a place at the end of Oliver's three-seated sofa, while Oliver himself took the other end. Why they were suddenly being so distant, however, Harry didn't know.

'So, what was it you wanted to tell me, Ollie?' Harry said, cutting straight to the chase. 'Is it something I can guess by the blush you're wearing?'

Indeed Oliver _was_ blushing, and very brightly so. He said, almost at a whisper, 'Possibly. Can you tell whether someone is rushing a relationship along?'

'Well, since I've never been in a relationship, I wouldn't know. Oliver, are you trying to tell me that you want to have sex or something?'

'Wh-What!' Oliver blustered. 'N-No, nothing like that! I wouldn't expect you to do anything so soon!'

'Then what is it?' Harry said imploringly. He scooted into the middle seat, not losing eye contact with Oliver. 'Oh, wait… I think I know… Is it something that you're afraid I won't say back to you?'

Oliver's eyes shimmered, his lower lip quivering with uncertainty, and he gave a subtle nod.

'Oh, Ollie…' Harry said gently, hugging his boyfriend. 'Why ever wouldn't I say that I love you? If what I feel for you right now isn't love, it's something very damn close. Listen to my every word, okay? I – love – you.'

There was a brief silence then, but not the sort that made Harry and Oliver feel uncomfortable. Oliver gazed at Harry, raised an exploratory hand, and caressed his cheek, his breathing shuddery and shallow.

Not a word was spoken. Harry pushed his head up to meet Oliver's while Oliver lowered his. But just as their lips were about to make that all-important connection, a cough from the doorway ruined the moment.

'Your dinner's ready,' said Denise, beaming. 'You two are so adorable together.'

'How long have you been stood there, Gran?'

'Long enough to know that you've picked a very sweet man. Come on, then, your dinner's going to be getting cold.'

And with that, she led Harry and Oliver to the kitchen.

'Did you really mean what you said,' asked Oliver, as he and Harry were getting changed into their pyjamas. Denise had left shortly after their meal two hours previously, 'do you really love me? You weren't just saying that to make me happy?'

Harry gazed at Oliver for a long moment, considering the shimmering hazel eyes he hadn't fully noticed yet, and abandoned the sleeping bag Oliver had pulled out of the wardrobe for him. He hopped up onto the double bed, thinking his answer over carefully.

It was easy to tell himself that he did love Oliver, but his certainty as to whether that would be the case when saying it out loud was shaky at best. How could he love Oliver after only being with him for little over two weeks? How could he love Oliver after speaking minimally at school? Oliver might have been exceptionally stunning, he thought, but that wasn't enough to warrant love.

Then Harry laid his eyes upon the solemn expression with which Oliver stared. His heart fell, but there was something about being in Oliver's presence that made him feel as though everything would be okay. Something in his chest began to pound – something big, something which took his breath away. And he realised.

'Oliver…' Harry started. 'When I'm with you – no matter how short the amount of time may be – you make me feel as though nothing in the world could go wrong. Right now, I can feel my heart breaking because of that loveably pathetic look on your face,' Oliver chuckled then, smiling a smile that stole Harry's heart a little bit more, 'but I look at you and suddenly everything seems okay. You make me happy. You make me love life. Ollie… you make me love _you_. Yes, I meant what I said earlier. Yes, I'm in love with you.'

A silence thicker than the cover upon which they sat descended over the bedroom, yet they were completely at ease in each other's presence. No sound save for the ticking of the clock above the door stole through the air as they gradually brought their lips closer. But no connection was made, and instead Harry shuffled down the bed until he could lay his head upon the plump pillow.

'Before we sleep,' he said with a seductive tone in his voice, 'I want to show you how I really feel. Kiss me.'

An uncertain smile flashed momentarily across Oliver's face, was replaced by the smothering embrace Harry pulled him into, and he let his approval be known in the form of an inquisitive tongue accompanying a moan breathier than any he had ever induced upon himself. Harry allowed his own tongue freedom to explore, and in the tender moment of their first truly meaningful kiss, time seemed to have stood still.

Slowly, Oliver pecked Harry's lips and drew away, feeling somewhat satisfied. 'Wow…' was all he could say.

Harry, breathless and dazed, swept a hand through his mane of wild black hair and stared at the ceiling. If that was what kissing would be like with Oliver, he couldn't wait to find out what it would be like doing _other _things. Yet he didn't feel as satisfied as Oliver appeared to be.

'Another…' he murmured, and Oliver grinned before he decided to lay next to Harry – the perfect position for continuous kissing. His wish was granted, and for the next ten minutes he had to rely on his nose to breathe. 'I love you…'

'I love you, too,' said Oliver quietly, placing a very gentle kiss to Harry's cheek and stroking a suggestive hand on the younger man's clothed stomach. 'You know, there are a couple of options available to us right now…'

'Oh?' said Harry curiously. 'What did you have in mind?'

Oliver blushed at this. Clearly, it wasn't just Harry who had been thinking about doing these sorts of things. He took the initiative. Bringing a hand up to stroke Oliver's cheek with his thumb, he said, 'Look, why don't we just start out small? You know, just lying naked together, genital contact, really tiny things that mean more than they let on. Now kiss me, you great lump of a man.'

And so Harry pulled Oliver's lips crashing back down to his own, delivering a kiss with an exquisite intensity that sent shockwaves throughout his body. He used one hand to hold Oliver's head in place, but he used his other to sneakily stroke inside his boyfriend's shirt, taking his own sweet time to fully absorb the arousing texture of muscle defined by years of intense Quidditch practice. Harry had a small six-pack himself, but he knew it was nothing next to Oliver's.

But it wasn't just Harry's hands that had gone wandering; Oliver's hand was steadily pressing and kneading its way towards Harry's crotch, and his eyes flashed with the sort of hunger that Harry knew could only be sated by their first instance of true intimacy. Trouble was, he didn't know if he was ready for that.

'Need you,' Oliver whispered against Harry's bottom lip, which he nibbled before kissing him again. 'Need you so bad…'

' I – I don't know…' said Harry uncertainly. 'I don't think I'm ready…'

'Hey, it's alright, Harry,' said Oliver gently. He noticed the worried expression on Harry's face. He trailed a light finger down his boyfriend's cheek. He wore a very kind smile and said, 'If you aren't ready for _that_ yet, we can just do other things, like you said. I care more about your enjoyment than I do my own; please don't think I'm going to force myself upon you.'

'The thought never crossed my mind. I'm just afraid that I can't give you the satisfaction you want and deserve.'

'Just kissing you is enough to lighten my mood considerably,' Oliver smiled sweetly. He captured Harry's lips once again. 'We don't even have to do _anything_ right now if you don't want to. You're in complete control, baby.'

'Baby?' said Harry amusedly. '_Baby_? Awww, you're so adorable.'

'I'd rather be cute and give you a name that shows I love you instead of a name that could suggest you're a slut.' The flat tone in Oliver's deep voice rumbled through Harry like a seismic wave. 'Would you really prefer if I just called you "babe"?'

'I wouldn't like it at all,' said Harry. He wanted desperately to do something with Oliver at that very moment, but it was difficult to think of anything that wouldn't cause him physical pain. He slapped himself for his indecisiveness, much to Oliver's dismay.

'What was that about?' said Oliver. He quickly began inspecting the bright, red hand mark on Harry's cheek. 'That actually looks like it hurt…'

'It _did_,' said Harry, 'but it's what I deserve for being so darn indecisive!'

'Hey!' Oliver's voice was stern. 'You listen to me, mister! If I'm not going to let another living soul hurt you, I'm certainly not going to let you hurt yourself, you hear? I love you too darn much to let you to come to any harm!' The silence this time was undeniably tense – so much so that Harry felt himself suffocating under its viper-like grip. 'Please…'

Harry made up his mind. 'Ollie…'

'Harry?'

'I… I want…'

'Want what, baby?'

And then, eyes shining with a gleeful wetness, Harry whispered, 'I want to make love…'

'Wait, you mean-?'

'Yes… I want to give my body to you.'

Oliver's eyes may have lit up at these unexpected words, but he was still caring enough to provide Harry with a fair warning of what to expect, even though he himself had no experience, either.

'Listen carefully, Harry,' he said, as mildly as he could. 'I'm going into this just as blind as you are. I'll be as gentle and slow as I can, but I'm not promising that this is going to be painless. You understand, don't you?'

'Yes, I understand,' Harry said huskily, 'and I'm willing to go through that pain if it means showing you I love you.'

Oliver gave Harry a sympathetic look. Yet Harry seemed determined; he grabbed Oliver's side and pulled: Oliver rolled on top of the younger man, who wrapped his legs around his waist.

'I think I like _this _position the best,' Harry said, brushing a mindless hand through Oliver's hair. He kissed him once more. 'I get to see your beautiful face while we make love…'

'Cute. I like cute.'

And before Harry could say another word, Oliver pressed their lips together so tenderly, so lightly, that they might not have been kissing at all. Mind swirling, Harry grazed his hands up Oliver's torso, his fingers dragging the hem of Oliver's shirt up with them. He even took the time to dig his nails into the skin on Oliver's back.

'I had no idea you were so – _exotic_,' Oliver breathed, pushing his tongue into Harry's mouth for a moment before hoisting himself up with his palms. He straddled Harry's waist and took off his shirt, which he promptly threw onto the floor with little acknowledgement. 'If my very limited knowledge of anal sex serves me well, you'll need to be nice and relaxed before I can even try to enter you…'

Harry stole another cheeky kiss from Oliver's lips. 'So how do you plan on doing that?'

'You'll see,' said Oliver. He winked, flashed a quick glance back at Harry's jeans, and quickly made with unfastening the belt. He threw those onto the floor, too. And to his very delighted surprise, he saw that Harry was far more adventurous than was first obvious. 'Commando?'

'Underwear is far too restricting,' Harry said, his cock springing to attention like a rookie soldier. 'Speaking of which, I want to see yours, mister!'

'That might be a little difficult. See, I'm not wearing any underwear, either.'

'Then let me see your dick, however flaccid or small you think it may be,' Harry said with much enthusiasm. Of course, he was perfectly sure that Oliver was at a higher state than mere flaccidity, and that the size of his boyfriend's penis was more than enough to please him. And as expected, when Oliver slipped his trousers down his legs and let them fall off the bed, Harry's level of arousal tripled: precum flooded his red tip, his heart started pounding out a samba, and his breathing fell to a dangerously unregulated level.

'Now listen, Harry,' Oliver said, his voice suddenly serious, 'since we're both new to this, I'm not entirely sure about what I'm doing. If anything hurts at all, I want you to let me know and I'll stop _immediately_. And if there's something you'd like to try, just say it and we'll try it, alright?'

'Sounds perfect,' said Harry. He pushed his hips up a little bit in an attempt to get Oliver to move; it worked, and after a moment of shifting, Oliver was once again laid in between Harry's legs. Only this time, the most personal parts of their existence were making full contact. A spark shot up Harry's spine. He gasped and said, so quiet it was barely a whisper, 'I love you.'

'I love you, too,' Oliver replied. Harry draped his arms over Oliver's neck as their lips reconnected, their tongues brushing ever so gently together. Grinding himself into Harry with a desperate need unlike any Harry could ever have expected, Oliver snaked his arms around Harry's waist and held himself in place. 'Just a little foreplay first, yeah?'

'Just a little,' said Harry. 'I want to have the most amount of time being intimate as we can. That includes keeping our stamina up.'

Oliver kissed Harry then and stroked a meek finger down his cheek, over his pectoral muscles and onto the subtle but firm abs above Harry's crotch. He pressed in lightly, enough to make Harry gasp, before following the line he traced with his tongue. Harry's tiny quivers and noticeable goose bumps did much to encourage him to go further; with great, wide sweeps using his flat tongue, he caressed the smooth skin on Harry's pubic area before burrowing his nose deep into the base of his boyfriend's swollen cock.

'W-What are you doing?' said Harry. He frowned inquisitively down upon Oliver, who started carefully licking up his shaft.

'Something I've only ever dreamt of doing…'

And Oliver dived down onto the throbbing member, making Harry yelp out unexpectedly and scrabble wildly at the bed sheets beside him. He had never felt something as hot, wet and infinitely enticing as the deceptively deep chasm currently allowing him to venture inside again and again. What felt like the most inquisitive of worms tapped at the underside of his cock; he shuddered and his legs curled subconsciously until they were wrapped snugly around Oliver's neck, holding him in place.

'Ohh…' he gasped, his fingers mindlessly gliding through Oliver's short, brown locks. Again and again he felt the pleasurably tight suction of Oliver's cheeks caressing his dick, but perhaps the most exciting part of it all was the tantalising mix of hot and cold, wet and dry, as his dick was continually covered – exposed – covered – exposed. 'I never expected it to feel this good. Are you sure you've never done this before?'

Oliver pulled off with a wet pop. Harry felt highly unsatisfied – and uncomfortably exposed, now that he thought about it. He blushed brightly and tried to shy away from Oliver like an embarrassed schoolgirl.

'I'm positive,' Oliver smiled warmly. His expression changed then, and he looked at Harry with inquisitive confusion. 'What are you doing?'

'It's embarrassing being so naked like this,' Harry murmured. 'I'm self-conscious about my body.'

'What for?' said Oliver mildly. He stroked a casual hand up Harry's leg. 'Your body is perfect and there's no reason to be shy about it. I mean, look at those abs and pecs! Quidditch has really transformed that bony, withdrawn boy I first met six years ago. Baby, you aren't worried I'll stop seeing you after this, are you?'

'Not at all!' said Harry immediately. 'I'm just concerned that I'm not attractive enough for-'

A harsh tap on the cheek – or was it a slap? – silenced Harry. Oliver stared at him with not a morsel of guilt, but he more than made up for it with his shimmering eyes and wide grin. 'You bloody idiot,' he chuckled. 'You're _more_ than attractive enough. Listen to me, Harry: I love you more than anything on this planet – and we've only been together for two weeks! I don't care how good you look; if you've got the perfect personality, you're the one for me. Besides, you're absolutely stunning anyway.'

Oliver stuck his tongue out at this, anticipating the move Harry was about to make: indeed, Harry almost smothered Oliver with a dominating and wholly enchanting kiss which could have bruised their lips.

'I love you, Ollie. Please, let me feel you inside me. I want to give you my entire body.'

'If you're sure, alright then, Harry.' Oliver gestured for Harry to lay down across the bed by patting the covers. 'But first, make sure you're _completely _relaxed and comfortable. I can't promise that this is going to be painless, baby, but I'm going to at least try and give you _some _relief. Are you ready?'

'Ready as I'll ever be,' Harry said. He took a deep breath, waiting for a fire to explode within his lower abdomen – he squeezed his eyes shut – but nothing came. 'What are you doing?'

'I'm going to start off slowly. First,' Oliver grabbed his wand from the bedside cabinet, muttered a spell which conjured a clear, sticky substance in the palm of his hand, and started working it between his fingers, 'your arse is going to need some stretching in order to accommodate me. I'll use my fingers to help prepare you. If at any time you feel that the pain is becoming too much, let me know and I'll stop _at once_. Your enjoyment matters far more to me than my own.'

And with that, Oliver moved to Harry's side on the bed, leaving one hand in between the younger man's legs. At first he considered rubbing Harry's shaft a few times, but thought it best not to; it would be unfortunate – and unsatisfying – if Harry were not to last as long as Oliver; if there was one thing Oliver wanted, it was for his first time with Harry to end in the two of them climaxing together.

'This is going to be a little bit cold,' Oliver warned Harry, who laced their lips again.

'Ah!' Harry hissed, as one of Oliver's firm fingers pressed its tip into the most secret, most delicate part of his body.

It was a mix of fire and ice: it sparked his system to life, tore air out of his lungs in rags, constricted muscles he didn't even know he had – and as the digit dug further, he found himself shouting – screaming – for he had never experienced anything as terrifying, exciting, or downright wonderful as having the one man he loved take such care as was being taken at that moment.

'So – So _good_…'

'You like that, baby?' said Oliver seductively. He burrowed his face into Harry and kissed any and all parts of his neck.

'P-Please…' Harry groaned, his bottom lip caught in between Oliver's teeth as they kissed again. 'I need more than a finger…'

'This is your – and my – first time, Harry,' said Oliver concernedly. He placed a tender kiss to Harry's cheek. 'Are you _absolutely_ sure that you're ready?'

'Truthfully, no,' Harry laughed. 'But there's only one way to find out, and I'd rather find out by doing than by thinking.'

'And you're sure you want to do this?' Oliver moved himself into position after smothering his cock in lubricant, ensured Harry's legs were snug around his waist, and placed his palms to either side of Harry's end, gripping the mattress. 'This is the last time I'll ask you, Harry…'

'Yes,' Harry gulped, his body tensing in anticipation. 'Just take it slow and easy at first, yeah?'

'Yeah. I'll push on three. Ready?'

'Mhm,' Harry nodded. 'One.'

'Two.'

And together, 'Three!'

'Gah! It – It _hurts_!'

It was as though a red hot iron rod was chiselling its way into Harry's body: he yelped out, squeezing the sheets tighter than anything else he had ever held in his life, and as Oliver pushed in with the slowest pace one could go, Harry thought he might explode.

'S-Slower!' he screamed. 'It hurts so much!'

Oliver stopped then. He gave Harry a melancholic look, eyes shining with a sympathetic sadness. He was only halfway inside Harry and he would have gone further were it not for the younger man's whimpers and rivulets of tears which rolled down his cheeks.

'Baby, I'm so, so sorry!' Oliver said rapidly. He made to pull out, but Harry grunted in protest.

'Don't. If you pull out, I won't get used to you being inside me. I'll just fight the pain as much as I can.'

'But baby, it's hurting you,' said Oliver sadly. 'I can't stand to see you in pain and it makes me feel so guilty knowing that I'm doing this to you.'

'Don't – ah – worry about it,' Harry assured him. He stroked a light finger down Oliver's cheek. 'I think it might have something to do with me being a little tense. Kiss me, it'll help me relax.'

And so Oliver gladly obliged; he pressed his lips to Harry's while Harry meaningfully caressed and kneaded the muscles in the older man's back.

While the pain in his lower abdomen was more intense than he could have ever anticipated, there was something about the suppleness with which Oliver slowly entered him – no matter how deep or slight the penetration may be – that made him feel cared for, even loved.

After a few minutes, Harry's suffering lessened.

'You – You can go in further, baby.'

'Are you sure? Please, love, don't force yourself into doing this.'

'I'm not forcing myself,' said Harry, and he grabbed Oliver's cheeks to pull him in further. 'I'm just desperate to have you inside me, to show you how much I love you.'

'If you insist,' said Oliver unsurely. He pushed forward a little more, found little resistance, and slid inside with far more ease than Harry had expected.

'HOLY FUCK!' Harry roared, for there was a minute part inside him that had just received a rather hard prod. 'It – It doesn't hurt anymore! Oliver, move, move now, before I explode!'

'Harry, it's so warm and tight… Unf…'

And Oliver pulled out marginally and with a smooth precision that sent tremors through Harry's body. Harry groaned loudly, dragged his nails down Oliver's back, and resisted the urge to scream when he felt the little bulb inside him being jabbed, instead reducing to a babbling mess snug in Oliver's arms.

'So – So _good_, baby…' Harry breathed.

He wrapped his lips around Oliver's as another mighty wave of pleasure washed over his body. He let his tongue roam free; it wriggled a little bit as it was released, but what were haphazard movements quickly turned into ambitious probes when it was met by Oliver's inquisitive tongue.

'I love you so much, you know that?' Oliver whispered. He placed a light peck to the tip of Harry's nose.

Every nerve in Harry's body was on fire, every synapse in his brain crackled with the electric impulses of his and Oliver's lovemaking, and he arched his back with a desperate need, knowing full well that the precum built-up on his dick would streak across Oliver's impeccable upper-body.

'P – Please, baby…' he begged, his mind clouding and his eyes streaming with a mix of pleasure and joy. Oliver thrust sharply and Harry wailed again. 'MORE!

'Harry – ngh – this feels – ah – phenomenal!'

'You're not the one on the receiving end of – end of – END OF IT!'

Harry's legs snapped around Oliver's waist and he used his arms to drag Oliver's lips down to meet his.

Oliver rocked at a quicker speed now, while he nipped Harry's lower lip in the most tender of ways. Harry allowed the older man's hands to roam down his side, over his shuddering pelvic bones, and across to the very solid erection which had suddenly become the centre of his existence.

Gripping it firmly but stroking with the utmost care, Oliver urged Harry to climax in time with his own encroaching release. And while he did that, he let his lips dance a trail of passionate desire down to Harry's collar. He nibbled on the protruding collar bones, caressed the little dip between them with his tongue, and then carried on nibbling, savouring every single gasp, every minute whimper, that escaped his lover's dainty lips.

'Oh, Harry… baby…'

It was as though Harry's brain was going to melt and pour out of his ears; Oliver was consistently hitting that one special spot at his very core, and he was unsure as to how much longer he could last at this rate.

'I don't…' he attempted, but the words came out as nothing more than a strained whisper. And then he screamed. Screamed louder than anything he had ever heard before.

His spine twisted and contorted, electric impulses thundering through his body, and he hugged Oliver tightly. He felt his arse muscles contract, the veins in Oliver's dick throbbing furiously inside him, and his body was overcome by a wave of euphoria; Oliver's rough yet nimble fingers worked a steady stream of cum out of his dick, and it pooled like yoghurt around the base of his shaft. Then there was a very warm, immediate gush of fluid within his body; Oliver grunted Harry's name, murmured sweet-nothings as though he was reciting a prayer, and his bulky arms pulled Harry so close that the younger boy was in danger of being crushed. And after everything, after the relentless thrusting, after the burning hole Harry was left with, their orgasmic thrashings atop the bed sheets came to a breathy end.

'Ollie…' Harry uttered, staring into his lover's shimmering, hazel eyes. 'You're so… so beautiful…'

'You sweet man, you,' Oliver chuckled. He delivered a gentle kiss to Harry's lips. 'I love you.'

'I love you, too.'

Harry sighed dreamily then, nuzzling himself into Oliver's taut chest muscles. They were still in the position in which they had made love, Oliver's cock still being hugged by Harry's arse, but that was perhaps, Harry thought, the defining factor in their intimacy; Oliver simply refused to leave Harry's body until a bountiful supply of kisses had been exchanged, and even then Oliver clung to Harry like an oversized koala. It would have been suffocating were it not for Harry's deep feelings of affection for this man, and so he allowed his boyfriend to lay beside him, arms and legs entangled, Oliver purring into his shoulder like a very content kitten.

'I could get used to this,' Harry murmured to himself, placing a kiss to a still-smiling Oliver's forehead, and he drifted off to sleep as his head hit the pillow.


	5. Bacon and Banks

***gasp* Is it another chapter?! It is! Okay, I've said this how many times before now? But this time I hope, hope, hope, hope, ****_hope_**** I'll be able to keep the updates regular again! It's not that I don't enjoy writing PotterWood anymore, it's that I don't feel my writing is good enough so I don't think I should be allowed to write ****_anything_****. Anywho, please read and review if you want more - it'll help my confidence majorly!**

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**Chapter Five – Bacon and Banks**

Morning arrived far too quickly for Harry's taste; his eyes fluttered open, and he found that he was lying on his side, facing a blank wall. Last night had felt so much like a dream, being with the man he loved for the first time. It was just a shame that it had come to an end so soon. 'Just like everything else that is good in my life,' he thought to himself.

He turned over, and his heart fell through the floor when he saw that Oliver was not in bed with him. But he felt reassured when he saw a tiny, handwritten note on Oliver's pillow. He was just about to unfurl it when he heard the front door close.

'Oliver,' he smiled to himself, and he quickly threw himself back onto his pillow in an attempt at pretending he was still asleep.

Sure enough, the bedroom door opened softly moments later.

Harry saw a shadow pass over his eyes as Oliver knelt beside the bed, and it became quite difficult to avoid smirking.

'Such a beautiful man…' Oliver murmured breathlessly. A gentle hand stroked through Harry's hair and caressed his cheek. 'I love you, baby.'

'I love you too,' said Harry, who decided to abandon his charade and flashed a smile he hoped would dazzle his unsuspecting boyfriend.

'Smile at me like that every time you see me,' said Oliver, smiling himself. He put one hand on the back of Harry's head and drew him into a very sweet, very tender, kiss. Then they pressed their noses together, inhaling the love which flowed from them like water. 'I got us some breakfast. There's a bacon sandwich waiting downstairs with your name written all over it.'

'Aw, so sweet. You'll make a perfect little housewife yet, Ollie.' Harry stuck his tongue out cheekily.

'House_husband_,' Oliver corrected him. 'But yes, I will. And I'll take great pleasure in looking after you. I love you.'

'I love you, too,' said Harry. They kissed again for a moment, and Harry felt his heart deflate a little when Oliver's lips gently slid away from his mouth.

'I have to say,' Harry commented, wiping his hands on his jeans and licking a bit of brown sauce from the corner of his mouth, 'that was probably the best bacon sandwich I've ever had.'

'Shame I didn't make it, eh?' Oliver laughed then, the low sound rumbling through Harry like an earthquake. He must have already eaten his breakfast, Harry surmised, because he was busy putting away a few groceries. Harry sat in silence as he watched Oliver move about, absorbing the firm arse of the man who had made love to him not even ten hours ago. 'You want anything else to eat?'

Harry shook his head to bring himself out of his daze and looked at Oliver – and almost exploded. The older man's hazel eyes were surprisingly sparkly today and the lower half of his face was shaded by a light stubble. Oliver tittered, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. He said, 'You're not so bad-looking yourself, y'know?'

Harry simply laughed.

About an hour later, Harry bade Oliver farewell with a light peck on the cheek and headed on home to change into a clean set of robes.

'Good morning, Harry,' said Aunt Petunia as Harry stepped over the threshold. She was in the living room, watching TV Harry presumed.

'A little of bit of sunshine is what we can expect for the next few days,' the weather forecaster said in a monotone voice. Harry took a seat on the sofa. The weatherman droned on.

'How was your night at Oliver's?' Aunt Petunia said conversationally.

'Wonderful, actually,' Harry said honestly. 'You know, Aunt Petunia, I really do think that I'm falling in love with him. We made love for the first time last night.'

'Bet your arse is sore today,' Dudley piped up, a cheeky chuckle escaping his throat.

'We'll have less of that, Dudley,' said Aunt Petunia sternly, her nose wrinkled in an expression of disapproval. She faced Harry. 'I'm glad you've found someone who can make you happy, Harry. It's about time something in your life went right for once.'

'Thanks, Aunt Petunia,' Harry smiled. In silence, the three of them watched the TV.

Petunia picked up the remote from beside her and flicked the channel once – twice – three times – before settling on a horror movie channel. Harry thought it odd to be watching such a film during the early part of the day; to him, horror movies were for night time. Regardless, he stared at the television set.

'_Tina…_' taunted a rough male voice. Harry could not see the man's face or figure, save for a bladed glove and a fedora hat. He cringed when the figure sliced off two of its fingers – which pumped a strange, brown goo – and recoiled even further when the girl, clad in nought but a nightgown, had been chased into a corner and pulled off the villain's horribly burnt face.

_Flick._

'We interrupt this film to bring you breaking news.'

Harry, Aunt Petunia and Dudley leaned forward at the same time, wondering what could have possibly happened to cut scheduled programming short.

'The Bank of England is being laid siege as I speak,' the newsreader continued, in a somewhat urgent manner. 'Thirteen suspects – each believed to be in their mid-thirties – stormed the front gates at seven o'clock this morning precisely. There have been fifty casualties so far, thirty-seven of them are known to have been fatal. SWAT team members have the Bank surrounded and police negotiators have been attempting to convince the criminals to relieve their hostages. None have been successful. Citizens are urged to stay as far away from Threadneedle Street as possible, and anyone with knowledge pertaining to the identity of these criminals is being asked by police to come forward without delay.'

'My word!' said Aunt Petunia, looking aghast, while Dudley simply stared at the television, his face set in an expression of intense inquisition. 'What on earth has the world come to!'

'What's this?' said the news reporter. 'We're receiving reports that four unknown individuals have charged through the police barricade and into the Bank! Ted Barker is on the scene. What exactly is going on, Ted?'

The shot of the newsreader edged to one side as a separate panel came into view; a reporter in his forties, with a very noticeable comb-over and bushy moustache, stood beside the police cordon, microphone in hand, looking distinctly ruffled. Behind him, Harry could see that the front doors of the Bank had had their windows smashed.

'As you previously mentioned, Paul, thirteen masked suspects besieged the Bank of England earlier this morning,' he said hurriedly. 'Myself and my camera crew were filming a report on inflation when the incident happened – we escaped before many hostages could be taken. It is unknown what the motives for this attack are, but there seems to be a strange mark upon each of the suspects' arms, but this is the only significant identifying trait. Ten minutes ago, two young men and women entered the Bank after forcing their way through the police barricade – several of the resisting officers are now being treated for broken bones. Their intent is not clear at this moment in time -'

A shattering could be heard coming from the inside of the Bank and the camera shot changed to an aerial camera attached to a police chopper.

Three men in masks were hurled out of the Bank and tumbled down a long flight of stairs, and five more ran blindly into the waiting SWAT team's clutches.

'So where are the other five?' said Dudley, as he watched the three tumblers come to a steady halt, blood streaked down the path they had taken. 'Are they dead?'

Scarlet-haired and looking very bruised, a woman looking no older than twenty-five was ejected from the building's top floor – and she was followed by an emerald-haired man of similar appearance. Together, they hit the concrete and instantly fell silent, the gathered crowd outside shrieking as their heads popped like balloons of meat.

'That's enough television for today, I think!' Aunt Petunia said immediately; Dudley turned green and ran from the room, only to throw up in the kitchen sink a moment later.

But Harry was far too absorbed in what was happening to even think about regarding Aunt Petunia's protests as he flicked the television back on.

While Dudley dragged himself upstairs, Aunt Petunia huffed in exasperation and left the living room.

In the minute it had been turned off, the scene had taken a surprising turn; the bodies of the fallen would-be heroes had been loaded into body bags and the five fleeing suspects found themselves stuck in the back of a riot van. There was no longer a crowd.

The man and woman left of the group which had stormed the Bank were dragged out the front, beaten and unconscious, by a figure in a respectable-looking suit. He wore a blood-flecked, black bowler hat, white gloves and a matching tie. With what Harry presumed was a sneer, he let his captives fall down the steps.

'Ah, come on, Firestorm!' he said disappointedly. He appeared to be talking to the sky, and Harry was confused. 'Is that all you've got?'

'Someone has to do something,' Harry mumbled to himself, gritting his teeth.

'Say what now?' said Aunt Petunia, her eyes wide with worry. 'No, no, no! You are _not_ leaving this house! And you can't use magic in front of Muggles!'

'I'm seventeen,' said Harry calmly, 'I can do what I like.'

And he Disapparated.

Stumbling slightly as he Apparated just behind the Bank of England, Harry's breath caught in his throat when he saw the dead bodies lined side-by-side in front of him. Faces still flushed with life, eyelids sunken, their limbs were pinned to their sides by the onset of rigor mortis. Each and every one of them had a hole in the centre of their forehead – shot.

Harry eased forward and stepped over the corpses. The silence was deafening, the pressure on his ears making a ringing resound in his head.

There was no door for him to grab as he reached the chipped wall, and so he realised that the only way for him to get inside would be to vault the shattered windows. He craned his neck to the right and peered into the Bank. Clear.

But there was still an obstacle he had to overcome; it would not do him any good to injure himself on broken glass before he had even become involved in a conflict; he took out his wand and jabbed the remaining shards of glass still in their frame – and flinched; he had not counted on there being a hard floor inside – rather, he had expected the glass to land on carpet – so when there was a smashing sound loud enough to be heard from the front of the building, his heart ascended to his throat and his pulse increased.

Taking a second to check that danger was not in close proximity, he grabbed the window pane and vaulted inside.

He kept himself low, knees bent, as he crept along a scarlet carpet dividing the pearly, bust-lined hallway. To either side of him as he passed were a few doors leading off to what thin name plaques told him were private offices. He reached a corner and glanced cautiously into the main section of the bank; the man in the bowler hat could be seen at the top of the flight of steps leading into the building, and his remaining four henchmen – dressed in black jumpsuits – bustled about hurriedly, throwing bundle after bundle of notes into ten bin liners.

'I thought it was you I saw on the TV!' said a hushed voice, sounding quite agitated. Harry felt a hand close on his shoulder as he leapt out of his skin.

'Oliver! What are you doing here!' exclaimed Harry.

'Condor!' one of the henchmen shouted, pointing directly at Harry and Oliver, whose first instincts were to hurl two Stunning spells and then dash for their lives. 'We have company!'

The sound of a body thudding to the floor followed Harry and Oliver as they pelted down the corridor, past a gleaming suit of armour and under a few ornate archways. They veered left, hearing the footsteps of three other men, and charged down the corridor in a long, spear-headed boost.

'In here, before they can find us!' Oliver said loudly, and he pointed to a large door seemingly hidden from view in a sort of alcove. He grabbed Harry's arm, pulled open the unlocked door – which held a plaque saying "Manager" – and led him inside. 'Stay quiet…'

From beyond the wooden door came a subdued whispering. 'They think we don't know where they are,' one of the men laughed.

'Do we go in and kill them?'

Harry's heart skipped to his throat and he held himself close to Oliver like a koala. 'So much for stopping the criminals,' he thought grimly, as Oliver cautiously flattened them both against a wall next to the huge, square window at the end of the room.

'No,' said a voice, the sarcastic, taunting voice which belonged to the man called Condor. 'Cobra, you know that Harry Potter and Oliver Wood aren't your targets. Nah, just leave 'em to Ice and Blaze. As for the rest o' ya, you'd best be headin' back to HQ. We've got quite the shipment of Pyrozome comin' in an' we need someone to pick it all up. Go!'

And there were four consecutive cracks from outside the door, but Harry's breathing remained as panicked and laboured as it was when he and Oliver were on the brink of being murdered.

As they walked out of the room, Oliver snatched Harry by the arms and hugged him tight.

'Never do anything so stupid or reckless as that again!' he sobbed, much to Harry's bewilderment. 'Please, baby… I don't know what I'd do if I lost you…'

'Ollie…' Harry murmured in complete surprise. He raised his head from Oliver's chest and gazed into the dripping, hazel pools above. 'I know you love me, but I never anticipated it being so intense that you would… Oh, baby, I'm so sorry for worrying you.'

And Harry stroked Oliver's back as soothingly as he could. Then he linked their arms and they Disapparated.


	6. Securing the Foundations

**And four days later, you have another chapter. Well, looks like this is where my groove finally comes back! Read and review, please, please, please! You have no idea how much they help! **

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**Chapter Six – Securing the Foundations**

Harry's Apparition was distinctly uneven as he and Oliver arrived outside the Dursley house. He was aware of a certain wetness on his shoulder – Oliver continued to cry – and the best he could do as they both stepped over the threshold was hold his boyfriend close.

'Shh…' he said gently, with Oliver's gentle sobs ringing in his ears. 'It's all right…'

'Harry Potter!' boomed Aunt Petunia. She thundered into the hallway, giraffe-neck pulsing, blonde hair bouncing, and glared at Harry with a knife-like focus. She noticed Oliver clinging to the younger man, and she frowned in confusion. 'Any particular reason your lover is in floods?'

'He's protective of me,' Harry said with more pride than he expected.

'That's a sign that you shouldn't let him go, Harry,' Dudley inserted, coming down the stairs and looking quite pale. Clearly, he had very recently finished his spate of vomiting. 'Oliver, do you need a tissue or something?'

'I'll…' Oliver sniffed, 'I'll be fine.'

Harry wrapped Oliver within his arms and led him into the living room, where they both sat down on the sofa and watched the TV. Aunt Petunia had left it on the news channel – the report was still going.

'…disturbance from within the Bank of England – causative factors unknown – appears to have led to the suspects fleeing from the scene. Police officers and SWAT teams are combing the area within a three-mile radius for any possible traces of the whereabouts of the leader known as "Condor". The public are urged to be on the lookout for a slim-built man with emerald hair and a formal suit and bowler hat. Any sightings should be reported to your local police department ASAP. Meanwhile, police have hinted that the victims thrown from the upper storeys of the Bank of England may not have necessarily died from the impact of the drop. More details are expected to be released once post-mortem examinations have taken place…'

'How could those poor souls have not died after having their heads smashed!' shrieked Aunt Petunia. 'Honestly, these news reporters don't have their heads screwed on like they used to! Post-mortem examination, indeed… Harry Potter, you get here this instant!'

Harry, hoping to avoid a rather nasty scolding from Petunia, had attempted to pull an anxious Oliver upstairs, but his efforts fell short as she continued to spout vehement exclamations of scandal at him. The reason as to why, though, left him completely clueless.

'Ignored my warnings!' she ranted, her voice shrill and very painful to hear. 'Could have been killed! Could have been _seen_!'

Oliver huffed beside Harry, his temperament heating up at quite an alarming rate; his brow was furrowed, his eyes flashing dangerously, and it was now that Harry realised that moving away from the scene would be the best course of action. But as he grabbed the rail leading up the wooden staircase, it was too late; as Petunia stormed towards the both of them, Oliver lost his temper.

'Would you just give it a rest!' he roared. 'Harry's seventeen and he can do whatever the hell he pleases! SHUT – UP!'

The house almost collapsed under the strain of the silence that befell the hallway at that moment. Birds chirped outside, barely audible over the furious breaths whistling out of Petunia's nostrils. She whispered one word – just one word – but with the murderous intent you would expect of a convict, as she stalked towards Oliver, her wand drawn. 'Out.'

Harry's instantaneous outrage manifested itself in the form of a translucent concertina bursting from his eyes like a rocket-fuelled fan. The wall beside which Petunia was standing blew up: the force of the spell knocked her into the living room and Dudley scarpered while the door splintered.

'Harry!' Oliver gasped. 'What did you just do!'

White and swirling in cotton-like threads, the mist that poured from Harry's ears and into the hallway choked Oliver as Harry's glazed-over eyes became emerald once more.

'I… What? Oliver?' murmured Harry, rubbing his aching forehead and shaking his head lightly. 'What just happened? Why is the door all shredded?'

'Listen,' Oliver said quickly and quietly. 'Harry, baby, I don't know what the hell you just did, how you managed to do it or even why you did it, but we need to leave before your Aunt Petunia wakes up. Your cousin has run off somewhere, but we have to go and we have to go now. Can you think of anywhere?'

'I… Huh? What am I…'

'Harry!' Oliver said loudly, tapping the dazed young man on the face. Harry's attention became suddenly focussed on Oliver. 'Where can we go? My house isn't exactly the wisest choice; what if Petunia or Dudley were to come calling?'

'…row,' Harry mumbled, his chest heavy, finding it difficult to catch the breath necessary to form words. He tried again. 'The Burrow…'

'Baby, what in the world could have done this to you… Can you Apparate?'

'Yes… Grab my arm.'

_Bang_.

'Mrs Weasley!' Oliver shouted from the dusty garden of the six-storey, rundown house Harry thought a second home. And out from the back door exploded Molly Weasley, dumpy as usual, her always kind expression withering into a look of deepest worry; Harry flopped to the floor, unconscious. 'Oh my God, Harry, baby, wake up!'

Fred and George came to help, Fred taking Harry's legs and George taking his head and arms, all while Oliver trotted beside them into the house.

'Harry!' Hermione, meeting them at the door with Ron, fretted. 'Oliver, what happened?'

'I don't even know. One minute we were standing in his aunt's hallway when she tried to eject me, the next thing I know, Harry somehow shot a spell from his eyes and blew up half the wall. He fell faint after that and only just managed to Apparate here.' He said all this with an unbidden urgency, his eyes burning, and, before Hermione could react, he fired himself in the direction of the sofa upon which Harry was lying. He grabbed the younger man's hand and made many fruitless attempts of convincing him back to consciousness. Realising that it was pointless, Oliver rested his head on Harry's chest while holding him as close as he could. He whispered, 'Nobody will touch you while you sleep, my love. I won't leave your side…'

Mrs Weasley and the others simply stood at the living room door, watching the scene before. Tears rolled down Mrs Weasley's cheeks. 'That poor boy…' she said lowly. 'I can't imagine what it must be like to watch the one you love lying so helpless…'

'Can… Can we…' Oliver sniffled then, not removing his head from Harry's chest. 'Can we have a bit of time together, please, Mrs Weasley? Alone…'

'Of course, dear,' Mrs Weasley said sympathetically, and walked over to stroke Oliver soothingly on the back. 'Don't hesitate to ask if there's anything, _anything_ at all that you need.' She made to walk out of the room behind Hermione and the others, but before she did she turned to face Oliver one last time, her mouth twitching into an infinitely kind smile. She added, 'You can call me Molly, you know, dear?' And she left.

Oliver was left kneeling beside and unconscious yet peaceful-looking Harry; there were no signs of lasting damage to the younger man, but still his unexplained loss of consciousness made dread like ice set in Oliver's stomach. Oliver hugged Harry tightly and allowed a few hot, solitary tears drip onto the shirt into which he burrowed himself.

'Please, baby,' he begged hopelessly, 'come back to me.'

For what felt like hours, but had in fact only been thirty minutes, Oliver remained where he was, nuzzling himself into Harry. Mrs Weasley tiptoed into the room shortly thereafter.

'Oliver?' she said tentatively. 'Would you like a cup of tea, dear?'

'Yes, please,' Oliver said without lifting his head. 'Molly?'

'Hm?'

'Harry's going to need somewhere to stay tonight, away from his Aunt…'

'He's welcome here whenever he needs us,' said Molly, placing a gentle hand on Oliver's shoulder, 'and so are you. If you need somewhere safe to stay, Arthur and I don't mind you coming here, either.'

'Thanks, Molly, but I don't want to stay here for my own benefit…'

'We know. We've seen how protective of Harry you can be. You want to stay so you can watch over him, we understand. Since Percy left home two years ago, we've had a spare bedroom upstairs with nobody to occupy it. There's a single bed, but you can easily Transfigure it into a double and make yourselves comfortable...'

Oliver blushed a little at this; Mrs Weasley had obviously considered the fact that he and Harry would not just be sleeping in the bed. 'Thank you, again,' was all he could say.

A very subtle murmuring broke the silence then, emanating from above Oliver's head. His neck snapped upwards, eyes as wide as they could possibly be, and, sure enough, Harry continued murmuring.

'Don't leave me, Ollie… I love you, please don't leave me…'

'Baby, I'll never leave you,' said Oliver frantically, fussing about Harry with an uncontrollable urge to hug him again. 'I promise you, we'll never be torn apart.'

'Ol… Ollie, where are you? Need you with me…' At these words, Harry's eyelids flickered and movement was visible beneath.

'I'm right here, my love!' cried Oliver, placing a few kisses to Harry's hand. 'Come back to us, Harry, come back to _me_!'

As though he had been punched with a brick, Harry spluttered as he sprung into a sitting position, eyes misty, instinctively grabbing out at Oliver and crushing him in a panicked hug – and Oliver accepted it immediately.

'It was… it was horrible!' Harry sobbed into Oliver's shoulder, gripping the older man with such strength that it could have left a bruise. 'A man in a cloak – all black. I couldn't see his face, but I was terrified! Ollie, hold me, please, I don't want this to be a dream – not another dream like that!'

'Harry, whoa, calm down, baby!' Oliver secured himself around Harry and felt his shirt growing steadily more moist; what the hell could have happened to make his Harry react this way? He took Harry's chin between his thumb and forefinger and gazed deeply into the wet, emerald eyes that dazzled him. 'Oh, sweetie, what in the world happened to put you in such a state?'

Harry said nothing, instead staring at the peach-coloured wall opposite and trembling in Oliver's arms, his eyes dripping.

'What's all the commotion about?' said Hermione concernedly, as she poked her head around the door to the living room without noticing the traumatised Harry.

'Come and see for yourself,' Oliver said. 'Shh… there, there, Harry, I'm right here…'

Something deep in Harry's gut stirred – a memory of sorts, desperately thrown aside by his emotionally fragile mind – and everything came flooding back to him: the dream he had, the heartbreak his astral self had felt… And he cried even more when his chest began to pound; what if this was all part of that dream?

'Please don't leave me, Ollie,' he said rapidly, 'I'm begging you! I'll do anything to keep you happy, _anything_! I _love_ you! Just… don't hit me again…'

'What!' Oliver blustered. At this, Harry was almost smothered under Oliver's weight. 'Harry, I would never… You're my Harry, my sweet Harry. I could never lay a finger on you. It's alright, baby, it was just a dream…'

'But what if this is a-'

It became difficult to speak after that; Oliver had all but devoured Harry's mouth in a very deep, entrancing kiss. When they pulled apart, Harry sat and stared at Oliver, completely lost for words.

'You're not dreaming, love! See? Hermione's right there and here come the others!'

Then realisation dawned on Harry, and he pressed himself into Oliver's chest with a melancholic helplessness. He sniffed. 'I'm so sorry, Ollie… I love you…'

'Oh, I love you too,' Oliver said softly, cradling Harry. He glanced over his shoulder at the others – Ron and Hermione in particular – all of whom watched with deepest sympathy.

For the remainder of the day, Harry and Oliver had politely asked that they be left alone; it was very clear that something had happened to Harry while he was unconscious, and he needed comfort fast. But Oliver wouldn't be able to do this without having at least some knowledge of what went down.

The issue was, however, that Harry just couldn't remember what had happened to make him speak or behave so frantically. Come bedtime, as he and Oliver climbed into the single bed that had been stretched out to form a double, Harry had no recollection of the dream whatsoever. But his memory was not so fine-tuned that he couldn't remember what happened _after_ he had the dream.

'I'm so, so sorry, Ollie…' he apologised for the sixth time in the space of ten minutes. Yet Oliver was showing no signs of irritation or frustration. Instead, he gave Harry an understanding look, smiled warm enough to melt the younger man's heart, and pecked him lightly on the lips.

'I know you are, baby, but you don't need to be,' Oliver said, nuzzling gently into the nape of Harry's neck and gesturing for them both to climb under the covers. They did so, and Harry made haste in snuggling right up to Oliver. 'Look, something happened while you were unconscious and the dream scared the hell out of you, that's all there is to it. You were practically delirious when you woke up, you really shouldn't have to worry. And just for the record – I don't plan on ever leaving you and I'd sooner die than lay even a finger on you. Now, it's time for sleep, I think, eh?'

'Okay, Ollie,' Harry sighed dreamily. 'I don't care if we've only been going out for two weeks, I love you…'

'I love you too, baby,' said Oliver.

Harry wriggled a little bit until he was as comfortable as he could be, gazing into the face of the man he adored, paying little attention to the flickering lamp on the bedside table beside them, instead allowing pleasant thoughts of their future together to drift through his mind as a tender hand swept lightly through his wild black mane of hair. And after a few minutes, they had both fallen asleep, their faces still etched with contented smiles.


End file.
